Page 110 of Psycho Devils: Aran's Story 2

I was not falling for a man just because he was nice to me.

That was pathetic.

John’s dark hair was messy, and my blood was streaked across his sweaty face. He smiled down at me tenderly and whispered, “I’m so proud of you. I just need to stitch your torso, then you’re done.”

His words had something foreign unfurling in my gut, something new.

A floaty sensation made my brain feel all fuzzy.

I smiled up at him and nodded because I wanted to impress him. I’d do whatever I needed if it made him smile down at me like I was his entire world.

Yep. I was officially pathetic.

I yanked my shirt up to my neck to expose my torso.

John’s smile fell. “What the hell are you doing?” Before I could respond, he pulled my shirt down over my chest to protect my modesty.

“It’s nothing, it’s just a sports bra and boobs.” I shrugged, too tired to care that my best friend was a prude.

Half my skin was hanging open, exposing my organs. It was a little late to care what I looked like.

John shook his head and said, “Our teammates could wake up.”

“So?” I rolled my eyes.

He clenched his jaw, and a muscle ticked as he busied himself tying a new string around the needle. His olive skin pulled across the tight muscles of his torso.

“No one gets to look at you,” he murmured as he stabbed at the open skin on my stomach.

I didn’t get to respond because I jolted in pain. The sensation was ten times worse across my sensitive stomach.

I was so busy counting I almost missed it.

It took me a moment to register that he mumbled something else under his breath.

“If anyone looks at your naked body, I’ll kill them.”

“What?” I whispered. “What did you say?”

John flashed his dimples and patted my head. “Almost done, Aran. Just hang in there a little more.”

That wasn’t what he said.

When he tried to have me roll over to fix my back, I snarled and refused to budge.

“I’m fine, I can feel that there are no cuts on my back,” I lied through gritted teeth.

He made a face of disbelief and murmured something about an ungrateful, ridiculous woman but stopped fighting with me.

I was a master manipulator. Turns out I was my father’s daughter, after all.

Finally, a long, sweat-filled hour later, John threw the needle down and said, “You’re done. No more.”

His hands trembled, but he rubbed them together to stop the shaking.

My eyelids felt like they weighed a million pounds. “I guess I’ll sleep here.” The sheet was stiff around my legs, and I squirmed with discomfort, but tiredness outweighed my disgust.

I shivered with a sudden chill.

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